Lucy's Boys
by LouTheStarSpeaker
Summary: It was something of a tradition; the kind you wish you never have to have, but the kind you never break. So every year they come, just that little bit older, but still every bit her's. A short belated Mother's Day one-shot. Warning: Maybe have a tissue box close by.


Author's Note: Here's a little belated Mother's Day one-shot, I hope you enjoy, but I should tell you, a tissue warning might be in order.

Here's to all the Mom's around the world, the one's we have and the one's we've lost, I love you all. 

**Disclaimer: I do not own the any Tracy's, nor do I pretend to. This story is just for a little fun and I'm not making any money by posting it. The line of lyrics is from The Secret Garden's Sleepsong**

* * *

Lucy's Boys

They'd taken the day off from International Rescue that day, all five of them. They never took off for their birthdays, and there was always a chance of getting called out on Christmas, but this was one day they didn't compromise on.

John came back down to Earth and the five of them would fly to their hometown in Kansas. They'd spend day walking around town, laughing over this and that, and visiting old buddies who'd never moved away.

They'd go up to the old farmhouse, the mere sight of it starting off a chain reaction of "_You remember when…?_", and send them reminiscing at their kitchen table all afternoon, each of them sitting where they always had.

But when there was a lull in their conversation, each of them would stand, remembering the reason for their visit. Their walk was made in whispered silence, because Gordon and Alan could never stop talking for long. But when they reached their destination, even they fell silent.

Alan went first. Kneeling on the ground he set a handful of daisies in the grass, and ran his fingers over the letters in the smooth stone.

| _Lucille Tracy_ |

| _Beloved Daughter, Loving Mother, Treasured Wife_ |

"Hey, Mom." Alan said quietly, voice cracking in an effort to hold back the tears. He'd been little when she'd passed, and Alan's memories of her voice had to be paired with pictures of her face. Was it harder or easier to love someone you could hardly remember?

"I miss you, Mom." And he did. He missed far too much of her.

Alan retreated back to the line of his brothers. The warm feeling _being understood _washed over him as John set an arm around his shoulders, and Alan gave a small smile even as he drew his sleeve across his face to dry his tears.

Gordon stepped forward next, and placed yellow buttercups next to his brother's daisies. He traced his fingers over the letters of his mother's name, same as Alan had, but for once Gordon didn't speak.

Like his little brother, Gordon couldn't remember much about his mom, but he remembered that she sang him the same song every night. Gordon still listened for it before he went to sleep, and maybe it was his imagination, but it sounded like the wind was playing it today.

Gordon's memory wound up like a music box, and suddenly his mom was singing to him again.

_Loo-li-loo-li-lai-lay. May there always be angels to watch over you, to guide you each step of the way…_

He could only ever remember it very clearly when he was here. He stayed there for a long moment, until the song was done and Virgil had crouched down next to him with a hand on his shoulder. "You alright, Gords?"

Gordon nodded in response and stood from his spot, walking back to the rest of his brother's. Scott pulled him into a hug and Gordon sighed as he fell into his embrace. He hadn't even known he'd been crying until he saw the damp patch on Scott's shirt when he pulled away.

Virgil had remained crouched on the ground, and he set soft pink orchids next to his brother's flowers, gazing sadly at the gravestone.

If he could have just _one _wish…

What would it have been like, if his mother had lived? It was a question that Virgil had used to torture himself with, trying to imagine an answer. He didn't anymore.

The sharp, angry pain that used to pierce him whenever he thought of her had long since receded to a dull, tender ache. It was a persistent pain, that never quite healed; and it was a part of him, as much as his own heartbeat.

He and his brothers had come a long way in their grief. Now his one wish would have been just to hug her again. He hadn't given up on that one yet, he'd see her again, one day.

Virgil placed a kiss on his fingers and pressed it to the stone. "Love you, Mom."

Virgil stood, and John met him halfway on his way back to his brothers. John met his eyes with a meaningful gaze, clasping his hand briefly as he walked past.

As John knelt down and placed a handful of forget-me-nots next to his brothers' flowers, he wasn't sure just what he should say. When he was little, in the first months after her death, he used to write letters to her everyday. Often times they were a dozen pages long, full of every word he'd wanted to say to her that day.

Every now and then he still wrote letters, when something big happened. After a particularly harrowing rescue, when a brother got hurt; it was the things that scared him, that he wrote about. For who better to turn to when you were scared than your mother?

The truth was, there were always things John wanted to tell her, and now that he was here, a hundred million words were pressing against his teeth.

But John hadn't the time for all of them, so he saved most of the words to write to her later, and chose the most important ones to say. "I love you, Mom, so much. And I miss you everyday."

John stood slowly, a little hesitant to leave, but made his way back to his brothers. A lump formed in his throat as Gordon pulled him into a hug and squeezed him tight.

Scott went last, adding lavender to the mix of flowers, his mother's favorite scent, and completed the bouquet. He tied the stems together with ribbon, blinking back tears so he could see.

It wasn't often that Scott cried, but he found himself with tears falling down his face every time he did this. Today was no different.

Of all the brothers, Scott had known their mother best. He was the one who could recall all of the little details, who could match his memories up with the photographs.

It was Scott who told stories to Alan to help fill in the missing pieces, and used to sing their mother's song to Gordon on the nights he couldn't sleep. He was the one who helped Virgil change his wish, and taught John to write his letters. It was Scott who protected them.

But it was Lucy who had taught him how.

Scott smiled at the name in the stone. "Happy Mother's Day, Mom."

He stood and returned to his brothers, a sad smile on his face. Alan's hand slipped into Scott's as he took his place next to him, completing the knot of brothers.

They'd linger for a bit, then leave when the sun touched the horizon, because she'd always liked blue skies better than sunsets.

Wherever his mother was, watching the five of them, Scott only hoped that she was proud of what she saw.

~_TB_~

Lucy stood dressed in white, clutching her flowers to her chest as she watched her boys walk off, illuminated by fading gold.

"_Oh, Jeff. You did such a good job with them since I've been gone."_

They would dream of their mother tonight.


End file.
